


Bad Cop/Cute Cop

by Stoney



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cop AU, Deputy Stiles, M/M, NOW DO YOU SEE WHY STILES IS TERRIBLE WITH CHILDREN?, Stiles is terrible with children, Teacher Derek, bloody leg in a bag, but Derek can't help himself, but he's eager!, mentions of a child vomiting off screen, the Sheriff has just about had it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 01:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2714027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stoney/pseuds/Stoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's first grade class is on a routine field trip to the Sheriff's station. It turns out to be anything but routine. In Stiles' own words, "We need to liven this <i>thang</i> up."</p><p>No. They really don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Cop/Cute Cop

**Author's Note:**

> This was a [tumblr post](http://stoney321.tumblr.com/post/104267165438/the-one-with-the-bad-cop-as-in-literally-a-bad) I brought over here in order to make people laugh. OMG please laugh.

“Oh man, the evidence room is the easiest to jimmy open,” Officer Stilinski says, beaming down at the group of six year olds Derek has brought to the station on a routine field trip.

“I don't think—”

“Nah, kids love this stuff,” Stiles says, cutting off Derek with an incredibly distracting wink. Last year when Derek brought his first graders on this same field trip, a portly older man with caramel in his beard had shown the kids around. Derek had fully expected another mind-numbing turn through the building. What he hadn't expected was, well, _this_. This tall, lanky, smiling guy who is hitting every one of Derek's buttons—both attraction and irritation. _How_.

“The trick is to jiggle the handle to the left, here,” Officer Stilinski says, bringing Susan—Derek's shyest student—up to the locked door and showing her how to hold it just right. The door clicks open with a solid _snick!_ and Officer Stilinski rocks back on his heels, whooping in delight. “Great job, cutie pie! You have the makings of a master thief! We'll be arresting you in no time!”

“ _Officer!_ ” Derek shout-whispers, trying to get Officer Stilinski's attention from where he's trying to show Susan how best to slip the lock pick into her lace-cuffed sock. Susan's enthralled, however, and seeing as it's taken Derek all of two months to get her to look him in the face when he speaks to her in class, he's a little flummoxed with the ease that this police officer seems to have with his most stubbornly shy student. Derek Hale is known as the child-whisperer at Beacon Hills Elementary, after all, so he's a little put out.

“What's that?” Ben shouts—in clear violation of Mr. Hale's inside voice rule—as he points to a suspiciously damp looking evidence bag. The kids all crowd around it, and Susan shrieks, high-pitched and piercing.

“That,” Officer Stilinski says with a flourish, and if it wasn't for the wince at Susan's shriek, Derek would have assumed he was deaf, “is a missing, bloody and mutilated leg, muah ah ah!” He breaks off into a spooky, scary laugh, waggling his fingers. Ben looks like he might be sick. Uh oh. He throws up in Derek's class at least once a week. Susan turns away, softly weeping.

“ _Officer Stilinski, may I have a word with you, please_ ,” Derek says over the ramping-up sound of a real wail on Susan's part.

Stiles turns awkwardly—it looks like just his torso is moving and god, why is this weirdly flexible man so attractive?—and looks back at Derek, his confused face breaking into a knowing smirk. “Call me Stiles. And you can have more than a _word_ , Teach.”

Derek doesn't— 

He couldn't— 

Is... Officer Stilinski singing “Hot for Teacher” under his breath?

Ben, sweat on his upper lip and breathing shallowly, looks up from near Derek's hip and gulps ominously. Oh, god. Derek leads Ben out, pushing him far ahead so Derek will be mostly out of any splash zone, and jerks his head angrily at the doorway, fixing Officer Stilinski— _Stiles_ —with a stern look, stomping out. He stops in the door way, takes one step back inside and hooks an arm around Susan's waist, hoisting her up onto his hip before stepping out into the hallway. She immediately buries her face into his neck, her wee body shaking from how hard she's crying. He's trying not to melt over how much he's wanted this, wanted her trust, but realizing that he's finally gotten her to warm up to him because she just saw a bloody disembodied _leg_ in a _bag_ puts a hell of a damper on any sense of achievement.

He can feel a presence at his back, spins around angrily and claps a free hand over Susan's ear to hiss at Stiles, “What on earth are you trying to do?”

Stiles hooks his thumbs into his gun belt, the motion stretching his beige Deputy's uniform shirt tight across his chest. It's firm, lightly muscled, but muscled.

Derek snaps his eyes back up to Stiles' face, shaking his head a little to clear it before bugging his eyes significantly. “ _Well?_ I'm waiting.”

“...giving your students a tour of the police station?” Stiles asks. Asks?

“You are traumatizing them!” Derek says fiercely, rocking side to side and bouncing gently as Susan settles into his hold. He sort of sags against her, curling his shoulders in to envelop her further.

His smile broad and disbelieving, Stiles waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, no. Nah. Pssht! Kids eat that kind of stuff up. Scares 'em straight, all of that good stuff.”

Derek stares back at this man, this ridiculously attractive and moronic individual. He can't believe he checked Stiles out earlier. He's handsome, but Jesus. “Why do you think my students need to be 'scared straight?'” He can't make the finger quotes to sell his point because his hands are holding a child who he now suspects is sound asleep against his chest, but they are heavily implied by his tone. He thinks.

“These guys are about to hit that rough age, man,” Stiles says, acting like he can't believe what Derek is saying, almost like he's pitying Derek for being so clueless.

“What.”

“Yeah!” Stiles looks sad for a moment, like Beacon Hills is a hotbed for juvenile delinquents. “We see it in here all the time.” He leans in and waggles his eyebrows. “I was a trouble maker, too. Eighth grade. Boy, that was a rough year. Really put my dad through the ringer!”

Derek blinks at him. He blinks again. He even shakes his head a little to clear it—which is becoming a habit, it seems, because... “Um, officer? How old do you think these children _are_?”

Stiles shrugs, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and Derek is _not_ paying attention to how it pushes his biceps out, or how it showcases the strong-looking tendons in the man's forearms. “What, thirteen? Fourteen?”

“Six.” Derek hisses. “They are _six_ years old.”

Stiles shrugs, jamming his hands into his uniform pants' pockets. “I dunno, man, they all look the same to me.”

Aasiv and Veronica poke their heads out of the evidence room, each with bags full of—

“Is that...” Derek wishes there was a bench somewhere so he can lay Susan down. Maybe he needs to lay down. Ben makes suspicious wet noises over in the corner, James is poking a broom handle at the bloody leg bag, and Stiles is striding towards the kids. Oh, good. Some order is about—

“Gutter glitter. Nose candy. The white pony. Booger sugar.” Stiles leans his arm against the doorway, grinning as Aasiv giggles. “Tooter snoot.” Now Veronica is giggling, too. “This, kids,” Stiles says, thankfully taking away from the _six year olds_ the double-bagged _illegal drugs_ from his students, what even _is_ his life, _god_ , “is the finest Colombian cocaine. Okay, probably not the finest because we took this off of Jimmy no-leg, and before you ask,” he says, pointing at each one of the kids in turn, “that other leg in evidence isn't Jimmy's. Now, Jimmy's what we call a low-level—”

“What in the godda—” Sheriff Stilinski rounds the corner, his face shocked and angry. Derek can identify with the man on a cellular level. _Sheriff_. Right! Nepotism is the only explanation for Stiles having this job, Derek thinks.

“Pardon me. Hey, kids!” the Sheriff says, forcing an over-bright smile on his face. “Who wants to look at the jail cells?”

All of the kids raise their hands, some of them bouncing on their toes. Derek ducks his head back and winces as Susan's arm shoots up, almost breaking his nose. Guess she wasn't asleep.

“You kids run along to where Officer Parrish is—” There's a handsome, sweet-faced guy squatting down on his haunches at the end of the hall, motioning towards the kids. “-—and he'll show you where the bad guys bunk. Maybe he'll let you see his handcuffs!”

Stiles winks at Derek, nodding his head in a “how you doing?” way, and it really should not make Derek any more flustered than he already feels. He's a _teacher_ for crying out loud. These children are his responsibility. Ben walks past him wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

Sheriff Stilinski keeps his smile on his face as all of the kids—Susan wormed out of Derek's hold and took off running—race down the hall. As soon as they're out of earshot, he whirls on his son.

“What the hell do you think you're doing letting first graders into the damn evidence locker?”

“Oh, come on,” Stiles answers, but most of his bravado is gone. He's nervously rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, fingering his gun belt with the other. “We need to liven this _thang_ up. Horace just lets them play with the vending machines until their teacher comes back from a smoke break. This time it was way more interesting.”

“They don't need interesting,” the Sheriff says, getting closer. Derek watches, completely transfixed, as Stiles shrinks in on himself, no small feat with those broad, strong—er, broad shoulders. “They _need_ to learn that policemen and sheriff's deputies are to be trusted.” He turns and winces out an apologetic smile at Derek. “Sorry. He's, um, new. And a knucklehead."

“And sorry.”

“And sorry,” the Sheriff parrots for Stiles, sighing. Derek gets the feeling this happens a lot.

“And single.”

“And sing—” The Sheriff drops his face into his hands, shaking it. “I'm going to check on Parrish. That one kid looked green in the gills. Maybe after he loses his lunch, he'll like using the hose.”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles says, calling out to his father's retreating back. “Be sure to tell them how some of the college boys wet themselves in fear when they wake up in the drunk tank!”

“No.”

“Pfft. He will. He always tells them that one.” Stiles shakes his head at Derek, like, “parents!” 

Derek has absolutely no idea what to _do_. He feels like he should file a report. Or grab his students up and extend nap time by a half hour for extra hugs in the “feel safe/feel cared for” stuffed animal corner. Susan had been eyeing the giant stuffed puppy for days now, and Derek had hoped he could get her to finally join them.

Or maybe he wants to shove this lame-brained, smart-mouthed, long-necked, broad hands... Lean thighs. Whoa, trim waist— Focus. He wants to shove this guy into the corner and shut Stiles up. With Derek's tongue in his mouth. What? That's not—

“Burgers or Italian?”

Derek shakes his head to clear it—he seems to be doing that a lot today—and looks up from the notch between Stiles' collarbones to see light brown eyes sparkling back at him. Hmm, maybe the lights were just extra bright in here. Probably. “What was that you said?”

“I asked which you prefer: burgers or Italian? I want our first date to start off on the right foot.”

“Italian? Wait, did you just ask me out?”

“Yep,” Stiles says, rocking back on his heels, the corner of his mouth hitched up in the smarmiest, “gotcha!” smile Derek's ever seen. He wants to rub it off the guy's face. Preferably with Derek's beard. “Say, you don't have any kids of your own, do you?”

Derek feels like he's stepped into another dimension. Like he forgot to put on shoes. Like down is up, and left is right. Like incredibly attractive men are horribly inappropriate and yet still incredibly attractive. “No?”

“Oh, thank god. I don't mind them, but I think I've already shown my proficiency.”

“And that you don't have any?” Derek says, his brain slowly coming back online. 

“Pretty much,” Stiles says, unperturbed. 

“Mr. Hale!” Aasiv yells, his little shaggy brown head peeking around the corner at the end of the hall. “Ben threw up everywhere! But they used a hose—a real hose—and washed it down the drain, and I got to help!”

“Oh my god,” Derek mumbles to himself.

Veronica pokes her head out, too, just above Aasiv's. “The Sheriff told us some older boys wet their pants when they get scared, so it helps clean things faster!” Both kids giggle and disappear. Derek turns back to Stiles, who is grinning from ear to ear.

“Told you! Kids love that stuff.” Stiles cocks his head to one side, his huge grin melting into something he must consider seductive. Dammit, it is, too. “So I'll meet you at Luigi's at 8; wear something sexy.”

Derek can't feel his hands. Did this day actually happen? Did his students have bags of _cocaine_ in their hands earlier? Did he just get asked out by the most inappropriate police officer ever? 

Did he wash his tight black jeans?

**Author's Note:**

> ([redacted] I cannot control where my fanworks' metadata is placed, even though I wish it to remain here. If I had a choice, my fanworks would remain in the realm of fandom in which I place it, aka non-corporate owned review sites such as GR. Personal review/rec lists are not to be considered the same thing and are something with which I have no issue.)


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